


everything is dangerous when it's just the two of us

by dangercupcake



Category: Superstition by Superstition_hockey
Genre: Abortion, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Best Friends, Coming Out, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Hockey, M/M, Mpreg, Post Mpreg, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 15:20:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11255634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dangercupcake/pseuds/dangercupcake
Summary: “What? Fuck no! Are you -- you are fuckingcrazy, Chants. I’m notkeeping it.”





	everything is dangerous when it's just the two of us

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Other People](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10739070) by [Superstition_hockey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Superstition_hockey/pseuds/Superstition_hockey). 



ONE

It’s late when the concert ends. They go to a drive-thru Tims off the freeway because Honoré is driving and says he needs some coffee. But then they pull off anyway, Honoré taking a small dirt road into a field.

Jacks looks down at his cup. “Was this a date?” he asks, suddenly unsure if Mika even had a ticket to begin with.

Honoré takes a long sip of his latte, then shrugs. “It’s a going away goodbye thing before you leave.”

Jacks winces. “I’m really . . . I’m . . .”

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” says Honoré. “I know that’s bullshit.”

Jacks looks over at him. “Will you fuck me? Please? I mean, obviously that’s why we’re in this fucking field, but, like, will you? Just . . . let me know what it’s like, and give me . . . like, that one thing?”

“I think I’ve given you more than that one thing.” Honoré sounds completely flat.

“I _am_ sorry.” Jacks turns away and looks out the window. “But hockey is worth it.”

“I know.” Honoré touches his hand and suddenly they’re holding hands and Jacks doesn’t think they’ve ever done that before. “I know you think it’s worth it.” When Jacks looks back at Honoré, his eyes are shining in the moonlight like every book Jacks has ever read. “Come into the back with me.”

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” Jacks says, wanting Honoré to understand.

“I know, mon chum.” Honoré leans forward, squeezing Jacks’ hand, and kisses him gently. 

*

When they fuck, it hurts, like Jacks can’t relax for some reason, and then there’s come everywhere, and when Jacks puts his jeans back on, he feels like he has to hold the come inside him, and it’s gross. But it’s also . . . like . . . beautiful. Honoré is beautiful. It’s, like, Jacks’ one thing he can take with him that’s just _his_ , and not hockey’s. He might never get to do it again -- he doesn’t know what it’s going to be like, going to the Q, going to the NHL, being with Luc even more 24/7 than now. He needed this.

**

TWO

Baie Comeau is _great_. Luc fucking _loves it_. It’s all hockey all the time, and once in a while they have tutoring or video classes, but it’s not like Moncton, where there was more school and less hockey. The Q is -- it’s not as much hockey as they can stand, but it’s _a lot_ , and Luc finally feels like his life is _on its way_. 

They both get points their first game—a beauty of a drop pass and the puck goes sailing right over the goalie’s shoulder. The older guys rub their knuckles through their hair and slap their shoulders and one says, “Look at these baby rookies, they deserve to pop those cherries, we got to find them some girls tonight!”

Luc rolls his eyes and shrugs out from under Granger’s arm. “Ugh.” he says. “We don’t need any girls from you, we do alright on our own.”

Jacks is quiet, though. Quieter than usual. Quiet enough that Luc _notices_ , because it’s not the kind of quiet where Jacks is feeling himself, watching that stupid sci fi shit and making plays for Luc to score on. This is something . . . else.

A few weeks in, at night, lights out, Luc says into the dark, “You gonna tell me what’s going on, Oli?”

“Nothing’s going on,” says Jacks, the worst liar ever.

“You’re not you. You missed my pass today.”

“I can miss one pass.”

“You don’t miss my passes,” says Luc, turning over to look at the lump of Jacks under the covers.

“I’m just adjusting,” says Jacks, and turns so his back is to Luc.

*

When it’s the third day in a row that Jacks is drinking ginger ale with breakfast instead of coffee, Luc drags him to the trainers and crosses his arms. 

“He has a stomach bug,” Luc tells them in French. “Three days, he hasn’t felt well. He’s keeping it a secret. Not eating his usual food. He puked last night before the game, and then again when we got home, and tried to hide it both times.”

“I hate it when you talk French, fuck,” says Jacks, and kicks the table. “What did you just say, Chants?”

“You know what I just said,” Luc tells him in English. “Be honest with them.”

“First you have to leave,” says Elliott, and ushers Luc out the door. 

Luc twists to yell over his shoulder, “It’s okay, Jacks, it’s just a stomach bug!”

But the trainers pull Jacks from the game that night, and don’t let him travel with the team to Moncton. Mackenzi’s waiting around with their parents and looks disappointed that Jacks isn’t there. Luc doesn’t have time for her.

“There’s something _wrong_ ,” he tells them, “and no one will tell me what it is.”

“It can’t be something serious,” says Maman, “because no one’s called Charlotte.”

“Oh. Really?” He looks over at Charlotte. “Really?”

“Really,” she confirms. “He probably just has the flu, Luc.”

On the bus that night, Granger is all, “Did you even hook up, Chants? Get off your phone!” and Luc has to punch him, because of course he hooked up, he didn’t even think about Jacks while he was getting his dick sucked. Well, he thought about Jacks but not the whole time.

He doesn’t have any texts from Jacks, though. Not even a Snap. Nothing.

*

The next game coming up is Cape Breton. Jacks isn’t cleared.

“Are we gonna talk about this, Oli?” asks Luc. He sits on his bed and puts his head in his hands. “Is it cancer? Are you not telling your mom?”

“It’s not cancer.” Jacks folds his legs and scrubs his hands over his face. “You have to promise you’re not going to freak out.”

“Of course I’m not going to freak out,” says Luc, offended. “I never freak out.”

“You never freak out,” mutters Jacks. “Okay. Okay. So. So . . . I’m . . . pregnant.”

“ _What_.” Luc stares at Jacks. He’s -- like, he’s the same guy Luc has always known! The curly red hair. The freckles everywhere. The big hands that are so soft, saucing Luc the passes that win them games. “Jacks. Someone is playing a joke on you. That shit doesn’t happen anymore.”

“Chants. Fortify, dude. I’m telling you. The trainers ran the tests. It’s happening.”

“Tabarnak, tabarnak, tabarnak -- I -- this is -- no way.” Luc runs his hands through his hair. “Do you _know how men get pregnant_? Oli.”

“Yes,” says Jacks, closing his eyes. “I have done that.”

“But.”

“Can you . . . deal with this? I’m gay. Can you hang?”

“Hey, fuck you, I’m not a homophobe!” says Luc. “I wish -- I wish you _told me_. J’men calice. I mean -- I mean, like, thank you for telling me. It’s fucking brave and --”

“Quit it. Stop. I don’t want to hear your canned press response, okay? I don’t -- I know you’re not a homophobe, I just . . .” Jacks takes a deep breath and rubs his palms on his thighs. “I have to go to an . . . you know . . . an _appointment_ , and they say not to go alone.”

“You never have to go anything alone, Jacks.”

“I know, Chants. That’s why I’m telling you.”

“Are we gonna get to hear the heartbeat?”

“What? Fuck no! Are you -- you are fucking _crazy_ , Chants. I’m not _keeping it._ ”

“What? What the fuck appo -- oh shit, crisse d’calice,” mutters Luc. Because of course. He’s so stupid. If Jacks has a baby right now, that fucks up all his hockey development for _years_. He’s at a pivotal point for so much shit, including the way his body is growing and stretching. A baby fucks all that up. A baby fucks up everything. What the fuck was Luc even thinking? 

What an idiot. What a stupid. What an _asshole._

“Are you still okay?” asks Jacks. “I can go by myself?”

“Go fuck yourself,” snaps Luc. “You think I would do that?”

“I don’t know what you would do!”

“No, _I don’t know what_ you _would do_!” yells Luc. “How many more secrets, Jacks? How much more don’t I know? I have _one secret_ , how many do you have?”

“This was my one secret!” says Jacks, but the way he looks away from Luc, Luc can tell he’s lying.

“Do you remember the first time in mite, the first time we played?” asks Luc.

“Yeah, I remember,” says Jacks slowly. “You sauced me a pass, and I put it right in the upper deck, glove side.”

“Yeah. You know why I tried to make friends and shit?”

“Uh, yeah, dude, you sauced me a pass and --“

“No -- I mean, yes, but . . . all summer, I was asking the hockey gods for a friend, for someone who _got it_ , someone to play good hockey with. I worked my butt off every day, and invented all these rituals, and I just kept praying every night. The minute you hit that pass, I knew they sent you to me.”

“You think your made-up gods sent me to you,” says Jacks dully.

“Every night I fucking ask to be worthy of having you.” Luc stares him right in the eye. “That’s my only secret, Jacks. Like, all the things, all the things we said we were going to do, together, all the things we _are_ going to do, I promise the hockey gods that I’m going to do it, and just ask to still be worthy of it, you know, still deserving to have you and hockey.”

“Jesus, Luc… Chantsy, fuck, man,” Jacks whispers.

“So anyway,” Luc continues, trying to make Jacks _understand_ , “that’s why it sucks that you feel like you have to keep secrets from me.” Luc stands up and squeezes Jacks’ shoulder. “Imma get you a Gatorade.”

**

THREE

The doctor’s office is just a doctor’s office. Luc had been expecting, like, whatever, some kind of PREGNANT MEN HERE sign, or something really gay. What looks gay? He doesn’t know. Rainbow flags in the windows? Something. But instead it’s really quiet. Like, actually quiet and also quiet in the decorations. Everything’s really muted. Or maybe he’s just in shock.

He grabs for Jacks’ hand.

Neither of them are in Cape Breton.

Luc is “sick” and Jacks has the same “lower body injury” that’s kept him out of the lineup for weeks. Luc always knew trainers were shifty but he didn’t know they were this shifty. He didn’t know they didn’t need to tell Jacks’ mom -- they’re underage, but Elliott says if they’re old enough to play hockey away from home, Jacks is old enough to make his own decisions about his body.

Luc thinks Elliott might be some kind of radical.

Jacks squeezes Luc’s hand. He’s kind of pale, but he’s always pale. Luc feels like he should be able to tell how Jacks is feeling about this, but Jacks keeps saying, “Can’t play hockey with a baby,” and nothing else. Like, who the fuck’s baby is it? Who was Jacks fucking? Does he have a boyfriend? Jacks isn’t talking and when Luc tried to ask Jacks and said tiredly, “Just shut up,” so Luc had shut up.

Sometimes Luc doesn’t shut up but he got the sense this shouldn’t be one of those times.

Once the waiting is over, the whole thing goes fast. There’s a lot of painkillers and a big needle. Luc’s job is to sit there holding Jacks’ hand while the doctor explains that Jacks is on the bubble for this procedure so if there’s any bleeding from the navel, they should come back immediately; if there’s any swelling of the abdomen; if there’s any excessive pain. 

Jacks keeps his eyes closed, doesn’t even wince when the needle goes in. Luc puts his head down on Jacks’ shoulder and uses both hands to hold Jacks’ hand.

*

Jacks cries all night. At first Luc isn’t sure what’s going on, but he read all the pamphlets they were given. This must be . . . hormones? He thinks maybe Jacks wants him to ignore it, but as the afternoon gives into evening and Jacks is still curled up on his bed crying, Luc _can’t_.

He climbs into Jacks’ bed and curls around him, careful of his stomach, and holds him.

“Oli, Oli,” he whispers. “You did the right thing.”

“I know,” he whispers back. “I didn’t want a fucking baby. It just hurts.”

“Do you want a painkiller?”

“No, I mean it _hurts_ , like, to think about. That I could have had this little kid who looked like me and -- the guy -- and now I won’t ever.”

“Were you in love?” Luc wants to know so bad.

“No. But I think he was, and I think I hurt him really bad.” Jacks takes in a shaky breath. “God, Luc, I could have had a _kid_. I’m fucking sixteen. Can you even _imagine_ what that would look like?”

“Uh, no, you would have had the kid and given it to my parents and then come back to play hockey with me.” Luc rubs his face on the back of Jacks’ neck. 

“All I’m good for, eh,” says Jacks, hiccupping. “I get it.”

“That’s right. I asked the hockey gods for a hockey player, not a teen parent statistic,” Luc teases, and he gets Jacks to laugh, so everything’s okay, even though Jacks is still crying.

*

Luc brings up dinner, but they come together again to sleep, clinging together. Luc definitely didn’t want Jacks to have a baby but he dreams about an infant with red curly hair anyway, dreams about kneeling in front of her to tie her hockey skates before she can even make a complete sentence, and he wakes up with his hand over Jacks’ stomach.

It’s embarrassing. It’s a good thing he wakes up before Jacks so he can go downstairs and make protein shakes before Jacks notices Luc being stupid.

 

**

FOUR

Everything goes back to normal. Luc knows this is normal. Their lives are normal. He never even sees Jacks touch his stomach. Not once. And he _watches_. Which is normal. It’s normal for Luc to watch Jacks because they are _Chants and Jacks_. It’s normal for them to get gold at World Juniors like medals don’t come in other colors, and Luc dekes for Jacks so he can suck Larsson’s dick in a closet, which, gross, Larsson? Luc takes it on himself to critique and chirp Jacks’ choices of partners, and gets a long lecture on who is actually available for fucking.

After that, at the bar that night, gold medal around his neck, Luc thinks about how many guys there are right there, and how many could possibly be gay -- or at least down for BJs. Like, statistically it’s _minimum_ one in ten and that statistic has been _proven_ to be wrong -- what? He’s done his research.

He doesn’t even know Jacks’ type, though, which is annoying. More secrets. But if he thinks about a guy he’d like to fuck, maybe he could come up with a guy Jacks would like to fuck from there. Luc’s not homophobic. He’s never said no homo, not even when he and Jacks get hard ons when they sleep in the same bed. It’s just dicks. He sees tons of naked guys. 

He’s never thought about them as more than naked guys -- like, why would he? There are always pretty-smelling, beautiful girls who have gorgeous boobs and delicious pussys walking around, and that’s what Luc wants. But there’s gotta be something to getting fucked up the ass if Jacks wants it; there’s gotta be something to dudes being hot if Jacks thinks there’s something there.

Like that guy across the bar looking at Luc. He has dark hair like Luc’s, and he’s got a big body, a hockey body. Luc thinks he might be the goalie for Germany. They didn’t put up too poor a showing, so his hockey isn’t too bad, that’s attractive. And he’s got a good mouth, like, really plush like the way Luc likes girl mouths. And --

“Hey,” he says. “Alarik.”

“Luc. Chants,” says Luc, and sticks out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Alarik curls up a corner of his mouth. “Yes. Nice to meet you.” He shakes Luc’s hand, then flicks the medal. “Good job.”

“You play to win the game.” 

“I was very impressed by your play.” Alarik leans against the bar. “I am surprised to see you here without . . . #42? Oliver Jackson? I thought you could not be separated. That is the rumor.”

Luc grins at him, showing all his teeth. “Oli’s here. I thought maybe you might be interested in meeting him, actually. Let me text him and introduce you.” Luc pulls out his phone and texts Jacks. _Caught someone for u cmere_.

“Oh, do you never make a play without your center?” Alarik laughs. “That is cute.”

Luc shrugs. “Jacks is --” He cuts off when arms sling around him from the back. “This is Jacks.”

“Hey,” says Jacks. He sloshes his beer into Luc’s hand. He looks Alarik up and down. “Oh.”

Alarik _laughs._ “Yes. Oh. Hello. Should I fuck off?”

“No, stay,” says Jacks. “Actually -- are we in the same hotel?”

“Yes, I think so. I have a roommate, but he’s . . . here, somewhere.”

“Let’s go,” says Jacks. He kisses Luc’s cheek. 

“Are you not coming?” Alarik asks Luc. “I thought your center needs you for the plays.”

“I -- I can come,” says Luc, feeling like he’s stumbling over words.

“Chants doesn’t make these plays,” says Jacks dismissively.

“Wait, I -- I can make these -- these plays,” he says. “Shut up, Oli, va chier.”

Jacks rolls his eyes. “Fine, if you freak out, you’re sitting in the bathroom all night.”

“I don’t _freak out,_ ” says Luc. He puts down the beer and follows Jacks and Alarik out of the bar.

*

Alarik puts his hand high on Luc’s thigh in the cab on the way back to the hotel. It doesn’t feel _bad_. It’s a hand. It’s Luc’s thigh. Girls make the same move. Luc’s dick is into it. But Luc’s not looking at Alarik. He’s looking at Jacks’, at Jacks’ red hair and pale skin and freckles and strong shoulders and thick neck. He’s looking at his center, his world, his best friend, his soul mate.

His dick is into it.

*

Luc watches Jacks and Alarik make out, rubbing his dick through his pants. It’s not as hot as he thought it would be. It’s missing something. When Jacks gets down on his knees and starts sucking Alarik’s cock, he realizes what it’s missing: Jacks sucking _Luc’s_ cock. Jacks shouldn’t be touching another guy. 

Luc feels so fucked up. Maybe he’s too drunk for this.

“Come kiss me, Chants,” says Alarik. His name sounds weird in Alarik’s accent. Luc goes to the other bed and sits next to Alarik, kisses him like he’d kiss anybody (a girl), and it’s the same. Except for some stubble burn. It’s weird where their stubble scrapes together, but it’s the same. Alarik seems like he’s kind of laughing at Luc, but Luc doesn’t give a fuck. He wants to make this good for Jacks -- that’s what he’s going to focus on, not on his own fucking issues.

When he looks down, there’s the top of Jacks’ head. When he listens, there’s Jacks, moaning around Alarik’s dick. 

Alarik breaks the kiss and says, “Can I fuck you?” 

Whoa, guy, like, isn’t that a lot for the first time with a dude? But he’s talking to Jacks.

“Nah, man, I’m not into it tonight,” says Jacks, and Luc has a flash of Jacks at the doctor’s office, squeezing Luc’s hand -- and then another flash of Jacks all round, Luc’s hand on his belly. Fuck, no -- no -- Luc squeezes his eyes shut. “Let me suck you off, eh?”

“Your accent is charming,” says Alarik, and Luc wants to punch him.

“Jacks,” Luc rasps out, and he slides off the bed and sits next to Jacks on the floor.

“Wait your turn, Chants,” says Jacks, laughing. His gold medal glints in the lights next to their beds. Luc slides his hand into Jacks’ hair and grips his head and pulls them together, mashing their lips together, opening his mouth to try to -- to try to _claim_ Jacks or something totally stupid like that, but Jacks is _his his his_ , and watching him touch someone else is _killing Luc_ inside, making him burn up --

Jacks takes control of the kiss, pressing Luc back against the bed, against Alarik’s legs, their medals clanking together. Jacks climbs into Luc’s lap and presses his mouth open even further and their tongues are touching. Luc is on fire. He knows what good kissing is, and this is good, this is so good. 

He likes sex a lot. Sometimes it feels almost as good as skating on a breakaway. He should have known that anything that feels that good would feel even better with Jacks.

Luc’s dick is a little confused, like, should it be into this? It’s Jacks. Luc is getting signals, like, his dick really wants to be into this, but his brain is sending signals, like, hey, we usually pretend we’re not turned on around Jacks. Is this happening? 

This is happening.

When they break apart, breathing heavy, Alarik clears his throat.

“I am going to leave now,” he announces. “The blow job was lovely.” He pats Jacks’ head as he stands. “Unless you . . .”

“No,” says Luc, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I mean . . . sorry, bro, didn’t mean to fuck around with you.”

“Thought so.” Alarik smiles at them, and shuts the door tightly on his way out.

“Fuck, Luc,” says Jacks shakily. 

“I’m sorry?” Luc looks up at him and realizes one of his hands is on Jacks’ ass. If he moves, that draws attention to it, so he just leaves it there. Fuck.

“Don’t be sorry. Don’t -- please don’t be sorry.” Jacks’ eyes are so blue in the dim light. Freakishly bright blue. Luc can’t look away.

“I’m not really sorry. I want this.”

“ _How?_ ”

“What do you mean _how_? I just want it. I was so angry that he was touching you. I want to be the one touching you. Don’t -- don’t touch anyone else, okay? Don’t suck someone’s dick. Suck my dick.”

“You want me to believe you’re going to suck my dick? King of pussy Luc Chantal?”

“Just, let’s go slow. But yes. I’ll do anything for you, Oli.” Luc squeezes the hand on Jacks’ ass, and with his other hand pulls Jacks back down to his mouth. “Anything,” he murmurs.

**

FIVE

They win and they win, but they don’t win the Mem Cup. The dressing room is sickeningly quiet. Luc can hear his heartbeat. Maybe he can even hear Jacks’.

“Next year, boys!” says Marts, and he puts an arm around Luc and the other around Jacks. “Next year, we’ll pull it out.”

The room doesn’t cheer.

Luc feels sick. He wanted to win this, but he also wanted to win it _for Jacks_. To show Jacks how _worth it_ this is. Hockey is. How worth it Luc is.

At no point had Luc even thought they would lose. They were taught to visualize losing, to see themselves dealing with failure, and Luc had blown it off -- if you fucking admit the possibility of failure, then you’re preparing to _not win_ , and Luc refuses to do that. But that means he really isn’t prepared for this.

He’s never lost anything before.

*

Luc and Jacks get drunk, but not very drunk, Uber home, and crawl into bed. They sleep in what used to be Luc’s bed, and keep shit on top of what used to be Jacks’ bed. Their billet parents haven’t said anything, not even when they come in the room in the morning and they’re in bed together obviously naked. They just . . . treat them like adults.

It’s fucking weird.

Luc wraps himself around Jacks and kisses the back of his neck. His hair is getting dark, auburn instead of orange, and it’s fucking nice. Jacks is a fucking beaut. Luc humps his ass a little and it makes Jacks giggle.

“You always do this,” says Jacks.

“Try to get up on ya?” says Luc. “Yeah.” He throws a leg over both of Jacks’ and rubs his dick against Jacks some more, even though he’s drunk enough that he’s only got a half chub.

“No, touch me here.” Jacks puts his hand over Luc’s, where it’s on Jack’s . . . awkward.

“Oh --” Luc tries to pull his hand away, but Jacks holds on tight.

“It’s okay.” Jacks threads their fingers together. “Do you, like, think about it a lot?”

“No?” tries Luc.

“Uh-huh.”

“Décrisse,” grumbles Luc, “ta guele.”

“You can tell me,” says Jacks. He rubs their hands over his belly. “You’ve never asked to fuck me.”

“You told that guy --”

“Alarik?”

“-- that you didn’t want to.”

“Okay, Chants, you’re crazy, that’s good.”

“I’m not crazy, I’m _respectful_.”

“I didn’t want to _one night_ with a _stranger_ during your _first time_ ,” says Jacks, sounding exasperated. “That doesn’t mean I’m never going to want to, dumbass. I like it.”

“You like it?”

“I think I like it. I definitely like fingers. And when I tried it . . . it was okay. I would do it again.”

“What the fuck,” says Luc. He drops his voice to a whisper. “You got pregnant your first time?”

“I didn’t know it could happen!”

“Ostie d’câlisse de viarge --”

“Okay, crazy.”

Luc takes a deep breath. “Look, it’s not -- I think about it, okay? I don’t want to fuck you, because I think about it, and I don’t want -- I know you think it’s dumb, but I don’t want the hockey gods to think I really want it and give it to me.”

“What,” says Jacks flatly.

“I think about you being pregnant. It’s really hot,” says Luc in a rush. He would never say this, he doesn’t think, if they hadn’t lost, if he wasn’t drunk, if it wasn’t dark, if Jacks’ skin wasn’t so hot, if the back of Jacks’ neck didn’t have Luc’s bite mark on it, beautiful.

“Me being pregnant is hot to you?”

“And us having a kid. With curly red hair and my eyes, and we teach her to skate.” Luc sighs and tips his head against the back of Jacks’ head. “I think about it sometimes before I go to sleep. Your belly all fat. When we’re old. You’ve got grey in your hair.”

“So you don’t want to knock me up _now_.” Jacks sounds like he’s trying not to . . . cry? But then he starts to laugh.

“Hey, asshole, I’m telling you a secret!”

“I know -- I’m sorry! I don’t think the hockey gods are going to get me pregnant just because you’re dreaming about life after hockey! Plus I have birth control.”

“You have _birth control_? Condoms aren’t a hundred percent.”

“I know, but I have a little implant thing. I went back to the doctor.” Jacks turns over in bed and tips their foreheads together. “And after hockey? When we’re super old? We can see, like, if it still works, and try to get me pregnant. I promise, Chants. You’re the one. My baby daddy.”

“You’re such a jerk, Jacks.”

“You love me.”

“Of course I do.”

“It’s okay to think about life after hockey. The hockey gods aren’t going to strike you down for it. We’ll have a dog and we’ll fish a lot and maybe we’ll have a daughter.”

Luc stretches to kiss him gently. “What do you think about when you think about after hockey?”

“I . . . don’t. I think about following around after you. I think, what is Chants gonna want after hockey? I’m gonna do that.”

“You weren’t thinking about having kids?”

“I don’t think about it a lot if I can help it. It fucks me up.”

“I have a primal urge to get inside you and leave a mark and continue my gene pool,” Luc confesses.

“We can do two of those things,” Jacks promises.

*

When Luc wakes up the next morning, he feels weird. It’s the first morning in a while he hasn’t felt guilty about his hand being on Jacks’ belly. Jacks stretches in his arms and gives him a closed-mouth kiss.

“How long do you think we have to wait to get a dog?” asks Luc.

“At least until we’re drafted.” Jacks yawns. “Oh my god, no dogs at the billet. And you realize we’re being drafted to different NHL teams, right? You need to start adjusting to that right now.”

“Maybe we’ll be traded to the same team on draft day. Or drafted right next to each other. Islanders and Rangers. Caps and Flyers. No, wait, no one is going to the Flyers.” Luc grins at him. “Do you think if we get married, a team has to take both of us?”

Jacks groans. “You want to be a teenage marriage statistic?”

“You don’t?”

**Author's Note:**

> This would not get out of my head so I wrote it down. Um. I really hope y'all enjoy this AU + weird branching off of canon. These are the stories I tell myself at night when I can't sleep.


End file.
